


A Kiss With a Fist (Is Better Than None)

by Thanatopsiturvy



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: It's a Goddamn Free-For-All, Kissing, Lots of kissing, M/M, OC Kiss Month Bingo, OC Wallapalooza, Prompt Fill, and maybe more - Freeform, to be determined - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22894672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thanatopsiturvy/pseuds/Thanatopsiturvy
Summary: Whoever knew there were so many different ways to kiss someone?[Filled prompts for my discord server's OC Kiss Bingo challenge!]Chapter 1: Neloth/Sar (Altmer OC)Chapter 2: Nilandur (Altmer OC)/Loriel (Altmer OC)Chapter 3: Dyce (Breton OC)/Hloris (Dunmer OC)Chapter 4: Azarahd (Khajiit OC)/Dharmash (Khajiit OC)Chapter 5: Neloth/Sar
Relationships: Neloth (Elder Scrolls)/Original Character(s), Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31
Collections: OC Kiss Bingo 2020





	1. Boot Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KISS KISS KISS
> 
> Sar belongs to Neco (she's on AO3 but I don't know where... _-squints-_ ) - thank you for letting me borrow him to torture Neloth!

“You wouldn’t.”    
  


“On the contrary,” Sar countered, dangling the folded piece of paper over his head. “You should know by now that I, in fact,  _ absolutely would.” _ He gave Neloth a pleasant smile, relishing the way the old Dunmer’s expression twisted with fury and indignation. 

“Do you have  _ any _ idea who--”   
  


“Of course I do, Master Neloth,” Sar interrupted, placing a hand over his heart. “You’re one of the most well-respected members of our house. Which, of course, is why it would be absolutely  _ devastating _ if this news got out to, oh, say, Master Gothren.” 

Neloth’s face blanched, the muscle beneath his right eye spasming. “Alright... Alright Saruroonyaran, name your price.” 

“Price?” Sar smiled cordially. “Oh no, something with this kind of,” he flipped the paper open to read it again, “ _ sensitivity _ is priceless!”

“And what’s to stop me from murdering you, hmm?” Neloth snarled, returning his smile with a manic one of his own. “Right here. Right now. Take that little scrap of paper from your filthy n’wah hands and rip it to shreds.”

“Oh! Well, you do make a good point.” Sar tapped his chin. “Aside from the fact that my steward has multiple copies and specific instructions to mail them to every Telvanni master this side of Vaardenfel if anything is to happen to me.” He inclined his head. “And while you could  _ also _ murder her, I suppose, you’d be hard pressed to catch up to her at this point.” 

Neloth said nothing, quietly seething. 

Sar smiled again. “I’m sure we could work something out.” 

“Lets,” Neloth ground out through clenched teeth. 

“What seems fair to you, Master Neloth? Because I’d hate to put you out.” Sar stuck out his lower lip as he tucked the damning evidence into an inner pocket of his robe. “Let’s make it easy on you.” 

“And why on Nirn would you make this easy on me?” Neloth laughed. “If that were the case, you wouldn’t have brought this to my attention at all! So out with it!” His fists were clenched tightly at his sides. “What do you want? Money? An artifact? It must be something!” 

Sar sighed with a chuckle, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “I just want you to show me a little respect, is all.” He gave an imploring smile, brow creased sympathetically.

“Respect?” Neloth repeated, spitting the word out like a curse. “And what have you done to earn such a thing?” 

“Well,” Sar tapped his breast pocket. “Bested you, of course.”

Neloth, once again, said nothing. 

“Now, a simple gesture will do.” He extended his hand, presenting his perfectly shined gauntlet. “A kiss, perhaps?”

Neloth looked at his hand as if it were poisonous, gaze flickering between the gauntlet and Sar’s face. Slowly, as if his joints were rusted hinges, he leaned forward, pursing his lips just enough to place a light kiss on his middle knuckle before recoiling as if it burned. 

“Come now, Neloth.” Sar pouted. “That wasn’t very convincing. Perhaps we should try something more… challenging.” He pulled his hand away with a smile and stepped one foot forward. “How about my boot instead?” 

“Fuck you,” Neloth spat, his entire body going rgid, his face flushing a deep indigo.   
  


“Ah, ah--” Sar waggled his finger. “Be nice. Besides, it’ll be over before you know it! And then we can put this whole silly matter behind us.” 

Neloth stood rooted to the spot for a long moment, glaring at Sar as if imagining his death a hundred times over. Finally, after a long stretch of silence, Neloth bent to one knee with a groan, bracing heavily against his own thigh. With no small amount of effort, he tucked both his knees beneath him, leaning forward onto his hands. He stared at Sar’s boot unmoving for another long moment, eyes glazed, brows pinched. He rocked forward, then stopped, then slowly lowered himself all the way, pressing his lips to the tip of Sar’s golden boot, holding them there for a pointedly long amount of time. He pushed back up to sitting with a grimace, folding his hands into his lap and staring off into space. The expression he wore was as if he’d just been forced to murder his own mother. 

“Now, see? Was that so difficult?” Sar asked sweetly, pulling the folded paper from the inside of his robe and setting it ablaze in the palm of his hand. “All gone! The others will be destroyed as well. You have my word.” 

Neloth remained silent as he got to his feet, pushing off his knee with a wince and a hiss. He gave Sar one last long, hard look. 

“This isn’t over,” he growled. “You’ll regret this.”

“I’m quite sure I won’t.” 

Sar watched him trudge miserably out of his tower with a light heart. As soon as he was sure Neloth had left the grounds, he cleared his throat. “All clear.” Wearing a shit-eating grin, Erevel slid out from behind one of the folding screens near the back of the room. 

“I can’t believe you actually got him to do that.” 

“Oh ye of little faith,” Sar smirked. “But did you  _ see _ it?” 

“Oh yes.” Erevel nodded enthusiastically. “Every blessed second.”

Sar pointed at the floor in front of him and Erevel trotted over gleefully to stand before him. With pull and a snap, Sar drew the memory from Erevel’s mind, holding the thought-form in the center of his palm. It pulsed brightly, colors and light swirling in the shape of an orb, the vague shapes of the memory flickering to the surface. Pulling a small crystal from his pocket, Sar bound the memory to it, smiling to himself as he felt the threads of magicka settle into place. 

“What are you going to do with it?” Erevel asked, crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side curiously. Sar just winked, walking over to one of his large cabinets. 

“Oh, I just like to have these things for safekeeping is all.” He quickly dismantled the wards and swung the doors open wide to reveal multiple shelves of small crystals, all gently pulsing with light. 

Erevel let out a low whistle. “You don’t have any of me in there, do you?” 

“Tsk,” Sar scolded, shaking his head as he placed his newest acquisition on the top shelf. “Of course not. You’d know if I did.” 


	2. Relieved Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nilandur/Loriel Elsinlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loriel belongs to [ltoadreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ltoadreamer/pseuds/ltoadreamer) \- he's been waiting in line to smooch Nilandur for a while now...

“Loriel!” 

Nilandur clutched his cloak tightly around his shoulders as he ran down the Windhelm bridge, away from the city gates. The figure one the other end limped towards him at a slower speed, holding one arm against his chest. When Nilandur finally reached him, he tentatively wrapped Loriel in a soft embrace. The other mer’s head lolled against his shoulder, his breath ragged and strained, hot and moist against Nil’s neck. He smelled of smoke and brimstone. Nilandur ran a hand through his tangled hair. 

“Nobody had heard anything in weeks!” His voice was shaking. “I very nearly thought you dead…” 

“I’m sorry.” Loriel’s voice was dry, scratchy, but there was just the faintest hint of humor to it. “I should have written.” 

Nilandur’s laugh had an edge of hysteria to it. He pulled back, taking Loriel’s face into his hand, running his thumbs across his high cheekbones and smearing a bit of the dirt. Loriel just gave him a tired smile, closing his eyes and leaning until their foreheads touched, their noses brushing. Nil didn’t pull away when he felt him shuffle even closer, tilt his head the slightest bit, press their lips together. It was chaste, almost friendly, but the relief that washed over Nil’s body was worth the nervous tug in his gut. Loriel’s mouth opened just a fraction, almost lethargically, capturing Nilandur’s lower lip between his own. Nil did pull away then, clearing his throat.

“Let’s get you inside and warmed up.” 

“No Ulfric,” Loriel insisted, his tone cold. 

Nilandur sighed. “He’ll want to see you eventually. But yes. We can work around that for now.” 

And with that, Loriel let Nil lead him the rest of the way across the bridge, through the city gates, and up towards the Palace of the Kings. 


	3. Surprise Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dyce the Incredibly Easy Breton/Hloris (the Incredibly Rude Dunmer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dyce belongs to the incredibly talented [Crunchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoose_bite/pseuds/mongoose_bite)
> 
> Hloris belongs to Neco (again, because I love her OCs a whole bunch apparently).

“I’m not in the mood for jokes.” Hloris tapped his foot irritably, arms crossed. “Do you have the artifact or not?” 

“I’m not joking,” the Breton argued, dropping his pack at his feet and beginning to rifle through it. “Do you know how many times I almost died trying to get my hands on this whatchamacallit?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.  _ Do you have it? _ ” 

“Pushy. I’m just asking for more money, is all.” The Breton looked around the tower. “I know your master can afford it.” 

“Listen, Breton.” 

“Dyce.” 

“Right... You won’t be receiving any more money. You agreed to two hundred septims for the safe return of the artifact, unharmed and still in working order.” Hloris held out his hand. “Now hand it over or I’ll be forced to take it from you.” 

Dyce straightened up from his rummagings, eyes narrowing. He crossed his arms, mimicking Hloris’s stance from earlier, cocking his head to the side. “Take it from me?” 

“Yes,  _ take it from you.” _

“That’s not how this works.” Dyce was looking at him like he was a curious little animal and not a skilled Telvanni apprentice. It made Hloris want to pop his head off. “You’re not very good with people, are you?” 

Hloris bristled. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just an observation, but listen,” Dyce was walking towards him, “I’d prefer you not forcefully take anything from me. I’m not big on ‘force’, generally speaking. I’m just trying to work out a better deal, considering all the trouble I went through.”

Hloris watched him approach, feeling oddly hot beneath his collar. “I told you, I won’t give you more money.” 

Dyce waved his hand. “Money, while preferable, isn’t the only payment I accept.” 

Hloris clutched at the jewelry on his wrists, and Dyce just shook his head with a smirk, still approaching, maddeningly close now. When was he going to stop? “Well what could you possibly--” The words died in his throat as Dyce reached up to run a hand along his neck, pulling him forward into a kiss. Hloris’s eyes went wide, heat flooding his face and ears, flushing down his chest, curling in the pit of his stomach. He let out an indignant, muffled noise, but didn’t pull away, grabbing onto Dyce’s upper arms. The Breton’s mouth was soft, warm. Wet. He felt Dyce’s tongue slide across his lower lip and he shuddered when he pulled away. 

“Wh--” Hloris cleared his throat. “What on Nirn…?” 

“You seemed way too tense. Besides,” Dyce’s hand was still on his neck, “what hero doesn’t love a kiss for his daring efforts?” 

“You’re not a hero,” Hloris argued, his voice hoarse. “You’re a petty thief.” 

“Hmm, well, what petty thief doesn’t love a kiss for his daring efforts?” 

As if under a thrall, Hloris let himself be pulled back in, lips parting against Dyce’s. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed him. His hands were frozen in place, tightly clinging to Dyce’s upper arms, an occasional tremor vibrating through his hands. He was starved for touch, but terrified to seek more. He felt Dyce’s other hand slip between the folds of his robes and he groaned involuntarily, face heating even more at how electric the touch made him feel. He tilted his head, parted his lips, pressed forward, and then the kiss was ending and Hloris was left feeling cold and flustered. He straightened his glasses and cleared his throat. 

“That was unnecessary.” 

“I disagree,” Dyce countered with a gin, holding out the small Dwemer sphere for Hloris to take. He snatched it from the Breton’s hand with a low growl, holding it up to the light, checking it for any scratches or signs of mistreatment. 

“Everything appears to be in working order.” He cleared his throat again, walking over to Master Sar’s desk and retrieving the small pouch of coin. He tossed it at the Breton, hoping he would drop it. He caught it mid air and Hloris clenched his jaw. “You may leave.” Dyce smiled and gave an overly-extravagant bow, scooping up his pack and making his way out of the tower.

It wasn’t until much later that Hloris realized his coin purse was missing.


	4. Collarbone Kiss/Shoulder Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azarahd/Dharmash 
> 
> Takes place in the modern AU "5E201"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dharmash belongs to [FourCatProductions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/FourCatProductions) and we are furry trash together. <3

Azarahd awoke to the sun on his face, streaming through the lopsided blinds  – long lines of light painting the worn wooden floor, curving across the off-white comforter, warming his fur. His arms and legs began to stiffen on their own accord, toes spreading, and he groaned into the stretch, arching his back and shuddering, squeezing the sleep from his muscles. The arm around his waist shifted, and he rolled onto his back, looking over at his bed partner. Dharmash was already awake, which was unsurprising. In the short time that they’d been cohabitating together, Azarahd found that Dharmash  _ always _ woke up before he did, usually silently staring at Ahz with his strange, pale eyes. Ahz had grown quite fond of those eyes. 

“Did you find rest?” Ahz’s voice was hoarse with sleep. He cleared his throat and shifted to reach for the glass of water on the floor next to him. Dharmash’s room had no real furniture to speak of, just a firm mat and a pile of cushions and blankets, a closet that was always slightly ajar, packed with shirts and pants that were all varying shades of black. Ahz had half a mind to buy him some of the necessities, but kept stopping himself every time, concerned with overstepping. Everything was too new, too raw, too fragile. He felt Dharmash’s hand slide along his ribs as he twisted, followed by the press of a muzzle against his shoulder, then another, then the sweep of a tongue along the back of Ahz’s neck. He chuckled into his glass, taking a long drink before setting it down and falling back onto the makeshift bed, reaching up to run his hands along the firm lines of Dharmash’s arms, across the tops of his shoulders, lightly scraping his claws through the short, dark fur at his neck. Dharmash just stared at him. He had started to grow familiar with Dharmash’s non-verbal preferences for communication. Annoyance and confusion had slowly been replaced by endearment and quiet pride. 

Sunlight streaked across Dharmash’s face like warpaint. His pale eyes took on a warm tone in the golden light, almost green, and Ahz noticed small flecks of color inside them for the first time, tiny freckles dotting his iris. Dharmash dipped down to press his lips to Ahz’s clavicle, nosing through the thick fur at his throat, before firmly bumping their heads together. Ahz chuckled deep in his chest, returning the nuzzle, before pulling Dharmash into a kiss. Sometimes he allowed Ahz to kiss him like the  _ shaboziit _ , pressing their mouths together, sliding his tongue between Dharmash’s lips. Other times Dharmash would push him away with a growl, grow distant, cold. But in the warm light of morning and their languid sleep-slowed movements, Dharmash pressed back, carding his fingers through the fur of Ahz’s neck, closing his eyes and parting his lips. 

It was these small kinds of victories that kept Azarahd hungry for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _shaboziit_ = "hairless", noun referring to non-Khajiit


	5. Kiss From Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neloth/Sar (aka whoops my new weakness)

“It’s… nice.” 

“Please, spare me your trivialities.” 

“No, I’m being quite serious. It’s...  _ quaint _ .” 

Neloth exhaled loudly, hunched over one of his book-strewn tables, back pointedly turned to the Altmer that was currently snooping through his things. Inviting Saruroonyaran to Tel Mithryn had been a mistake. Neloth had acted without thinking— _ fully thinking— _ about the consequences. He’d just been… No, not happy. Relieved? Not quite that either. Curious. Yes, that. When he’d heard news that a member of House Telvanni had taken up residence in Skyrim, something had compelled him to reach out. Curiosity. That was all. 

“I thought perhaps in two hundred years it might be a tad larger.” 

Neloth bristled, whirling around. “Solstheim is hardly Vaardenfel,” he argued, “and part of the tower has been wilting recently. It’s been a battle for survival since I stepped foot on this damnable island.”

Sar just smiled at him in that infuriatingly aloof way, hands tucked behind his back as he continued to peruse Neloth’s book shelves. He’d barely aged a day. His hair seemed lighter, a bit ashen, some of the creases along his eyes were deeper, more pronounced. Neloth averted his gaze, turning back to his books. 

“Oh, and what’s that?” 

Neloth spun around to see Sar gazing into the sealed room towards the back of the tower. “That’s my staff enchanter.”    
  
“Staff enchanter!?” Sar beamed a little too brightly. “You clever old s’wit. How long ago did you come up with that, hmm?” 

Neloth preened at the compliment, striding over to him. “It was all in the heart stones, really. Once I’d figured out how to–” He cut himself off, his eyes narrowing. “Very clever.” 

Sar quirked a brow. “Clever?” 

“You haven’t changed much, I see.” Neloth crossed his arms with a scowl. “Still a conniving bastard, eager to pry into other people’s hard work, steal it for yourself.” 

Sar placed a hand over his heart in mock surprise. “Neloth, you wound me. I would never–"  
  
“Don’t,” he snapped. “I have no clue why I thought inviting you here would be a good idea.” 

Sar was an excellent actor, for he really did look hurt—his shoulders slumping, expression imploring. The shift in demeanor went as quickly as it came, and he straightened up, expression sliding back into his usual cool, indifferent bemusement. “Well, _you’ve_ changed quite a bit.”

“Have I?” Neloth let out a bark of a laugh, turning to walk back towards the table with his books. “I very much doubt that.” 

“It’s true! You’re far more agreeable. Which is saying a lot.” Sar followed him, circling around to Neloth’s left to lean against the railing. “In fact I’d even argue—AH!” Sar flailed wildly as he began to tip backwards over the railing and Neloth lunged in panic, grabbing onto both of his arms and hauling him away from the steep drop. 

“Be careful! What in Oblivion is wrong with y–” Neloth cut himself off, anger flaring hot along his skin, creeping up his neck and setting his ears aflame. Sar was simply grinning at him in a devilish, knowing way. It had been some kind of trick. He immediately let go of his arms, taking several steps backwards. 

“See? You’ve changed.” 

“You should leave,” Neloth growled, turning away for what felt like the hundredth time. It was easier not to look at him, easier to ignore how the feeling of irritation and antipathy were warping into a strange, almost melancholic fondness for his old adversary. Had he really been so lonely on this damn island? He hunched over his books once again, feeling petulant and disliking it. 

“Come now, Neloth. Don’t be like that..” He heard Sar step up behind him. “It’s not a bad thing.” Felt the heat of Sar’s body at his back. Neloth went rigid as the Altmer’s arms slid around his waist, leaning against him; he sucked in a breath when he felt the brush of lips against the back of his neck, pressing against the hollow just behind his ear. He should have elbowed the bastard in the stomach, should have shoved him away, perhaps even blasted him with a fireball to the groin. Instead Neloth closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, curling his fingers into fists on the table as Sar placed another kiss on his pulse point, his breath hot as it ghosted across Neloth’s throat. A shiver ran the length of his body and he let out a long, shuddering exhale through his nose. Shameful. 

“The beard suits you.” Sar spoke lowly into his ear—Neloth was done for. 


End file.
